


Try Again

by DeeNomilk



Series: Tashok the Dragonborn [19]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Illia works through some of her baggage, is this how I tag this???, not tash centric, she does make an appearance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 09:10:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20307022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeeNomilk/pseuds/DeeNomilk
Summary: Tash left her home again, leaving Illia and Erandur to watch after her children. The two of them have a talk.





	Try Again

**Author's Note:**

> Kinda feel like these two should have a talk.

“So you’re a priest of Mara…” Illia sits next to Erandur.

Tashok is once again gone, having had less than a week to relax at home with her family when Inigo’s head started hurting him so badly he’d crumple to the ground.

After a few episodes, Tashok decided then and there they would be investigating the cause, and within a day, she and her two friends had left once more.

Meaning Illia was, once again, alone with the children… and with a new acquaintance.

He’d barely spoken since Tashok introduced them, safe for a few token priest-like statements, a response whenever one of the children ask him a question or showed him something.

Now he was sitting outside, looking towards the lake deep in thought.

“That I am.” he looks at her as she settles next to him. “Why do you ask?”

Illia bites her lips and begins to look at the empty space before here.

Why did she ask?

“How does one become a priest?” she ponders.

“In my case, I was taken in by another priest of Mara, in Markath.” Erandur explains. “There is no one way to devote yourself to Mara.”

“Must be nice… Spreading love and happiness.”

“It’s very rewarding, yes.”

Illia falls silent.

In all her life, so far, she can’t recall doing anything good. Quite the opposite in fact.

The best thing she’d ever done was killing her own mother and the people she grew up with.

“Do you ever…” she starts but stops herself. What is she trying to ask? “Do you think it’s possible to do something right, but still feel awful about it?”

The elf next to her sucks in a breath and stills.

“I mean, I know I shouldn’t think about it too much… It was for the best but… if it was the right thing to do,” she doesn’t stop, even when her voice wavers. “Why does it hurt so much?”

She clenches her fists together hard enough for her nails to dig into her palms. The priest next to her says nothing for a long time, and she doesn’t dare look at him.

“As a healer, I can tell you that pain has a purpose.” he says slowly.

“You’re saying pain is good?” her disbelief is enough to make her look at him. Her eyes hidden when she realizes he looks as conflicted as she feels.

“No… No. But pain if meant to alert you that something’s wrong. That something needs tending.” he takes in a shaky breath. “Ignoring the pain doesn’t erase the wound.”

Illia thinks about this for a moment, then asks. “How do I make the pain go away?”

Erandur lets a dry chuckle out.

“That’s the hard part, isn’t it…”

He says nothing after that, and for some time Illia thinks this is the extend of their conversation. It’s not exactly a satisfying conclusion by any means.

“In my experience, with these kinds of wounds…” he says carefully. “It’s best to talk about them.”

That’s exactly what Illia was both hoping for and dreading.

She breathes in the cool autumn air, unsure of where to start.

“Is this something you wish to talk about?” Erandur’s patient voice emboldens her.

“I think so…” she exhales. “I uh…”

Erandur waits for her to continue, careful not to interrupt.

“I guess I should start at the beginning…” she drums her fingers on the rocks. “I was part of a witches’ coven with my mother, out in the rift. It was led by some hagravens.”

She glances at Erandur, waiting for a reaction, perhaps shock or horror. Instead, he simply looks at her expectantly.

“We uh… We did some awful things. Mother was set to become a hagraven as well, along with some of the other witches there. My colleague Eritna and I, we were supposed to go find someone to sacrifice.” she frowns. “Someone innocent.”

She buries her face into her hands, taking a moment to compose herself.

“I couldn’t do it.” her voice shakes. “I couldn’t do it and I told Eritna, and so she attacked me.”

Even she winces at the sad finality of her words. As if it was obvious there had been no other possible outcomes to her story.

“That was when she… Tashok, I mean.” Illia clarifies. “That’s when she entered the tower. I don’t know what made her step inside at that very moment, or even what made her take me at my word, but she did. Together we made our way to mother, to stop the ritual.”

The shame and guilt hits her almost as harshly as it did in the moment.

“We killed them all.” she whispers, closing her eyes to prevent the tears from spilling out. “We killed them, and it was my idea, and I _helped_ her do it. Told her they wouldn’t listen…”

She feels a hand come to rest on her shoulder, steadying her.

“What if they had?!” she turns to him, eyes wide and tears falling. “What if I could’ve convinced them to stop, but I didn’t because I thought they’d react like Eritna?!”

She wipes her tears with her sleeve.

“What if they could’ve lived… And I took their opportunity to do it away…” she sounds miserable. “Why do I get to repent, but they don’t? Even worse, I was prepared to just stay in that tower forever… Wallowing in guilt and regrets. She eventually convinced me to come with her, you know. I refused, at first, but she insisted on visiting me every time she came to the Rift after that.”

Despite the whirlwind of emotions clouding her head, she smiles wryly.

“Guess she wore me down after all…” she sighs, looking up to the clouds rolling above them. “I just… Don’t feel I’m worth it. Not after everything. I feel guilty whenever I feel happy, because I took that from the others.”

“I understand.” Erandur says after a tried pause. “I’ve done something quite similar, myself.”

“You?” Illia says in disbelief. “You’re a priest — of Mara! — for crying out loud… How could you possibly have done anything bad?”

This elicits a deep, forlorn sigh from Erandur. Now it’s his turn to avoid Illia’s gaze.

“You see, I was raised as part of the Cult of Vaermina…” he starts.

“The Daedric Prince of nightmares?!” Illia can’t contain her shock.

“The one and only… I’d been having doubts for a while, and when we were attacked by local bandits who wanted revenge for their nightmares, I was chosen to put us all into a magical sleep. But when the time came, I ran.”

He clenches his fists on his knees, before doing his best to relax them.

"It wasn’t because I wanted to do good…” he admits with a hint of bitterness. “It’s because I was a coward. I wandered around Skyrim for some time, until that priest of Mara took me in. Made me understand that Mara’s love extends to everyone, including myself.”

He feels a burst of confidence while reminiscing his mentor, and takes Illia’s hand in his own.

“Anyone can be forgiven.” he tells her. “If they wish to be.”

As smile creeps on Illia’s face as she accepts the hand in hers. She thinks to herself for a moment.

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop feeling guilty…” she admits. “But I can still do good.”

“Indeed.” Erandur agrees.

He looks to the children, still playing hide and seek.

“I'd say watching these four is quite honourable of you.” he says. “Especially since this allows our friend to go help more people across Skryim.”

“She tends to do that, doesn’t she?” Illia chuckles. “I quite enjoy this; watching after them. They don’t know what I’ve done… It’s like a new blank slate. Would you believe Ma’isha’s already taken to calling me Aunty?”

“That’s wonderful!”

Illia hums in agreement, watching Alesan be caught by Sofie with a smile.

“I hope everything is going smoothly on Tashok’s end of things.”

—

“Frick!” Tashok yells out as she loses her footing on the fallen truck and falls into the snow below. “Oof!”

“Are you alright?” Lucien’s footsepts crunch behind her.

“Nghk…” she groans as she rolls onto her back and sprawls her arms wide. “Why does he need _eight_ of them!”

“Come now…” Lucien encourages her. “You’ve done much worst for ingredients in the past.”

“But they were for me!” Tashok can’t help but whine.

“You only need a few more… Afterwards we can get out of the cold and into the cabin.”

Tashok groans as she rubs her hands into her face slowly.

“You’re right… Let’s try again then…” she sighs before pushing herself up.

—

Bonus (bc I made it for easter):


End file.
